you have no idea of all that goes on there; you do not know that love is
treacherous, friendship is selfish, virtues rare, and gratitude almost
non-existent. If you knew that frivolous world as I do, perhaps you
would consider yourself less unfortunate to live in a hole. But to
return: I soon squandered the fortune which my parents had left me; my
old aunt died and her inheritance put me on my feet again; I travelled a
great deal in search of new enjoyments, of new faces, and sometimes to
escape the vengeance of a father or of a husband; I was, I admit, a very
sad scamp.
"Chance took me to Bordeaux. I met there a charming young lady, whom her
father, a crabbed old naval officer, kept in the strictest retirement.
But bolts, locks and duennas were no obstacles to me; I succeeded in
making my way to Adèle’s presence; I was even received at her father’s
house. But I took great pains to conceal my past misconduct. I was then
young and well-built; my features were not worn by privation, my eyes
sunken by fatigue; I was well adapted to please. I had, above all, the
art of appearing to be in love; but upon this occasion my passion was
not feigned; Adèle aroused in me a sentiment which I had never felt for
any other woman; credulous and affectionate as she was, it was not
difficult for me to win her love, to seduce her, to triumph over her
innocence. But I swear to you that, weary of the life I was leading, my
purpose, my sole desire was to marry Adèle. Unluckily, her father,
having made some inquiries concerning me, refused to receive me any
more. Soon I was compelled by a duel to leave the city, but I left it
persuaded that Adèle would be faithful to me. Many circumstances
combined to assure me that she would never marry another, and I still
retained the hope of calling her my wife; imagine my rage, therefore,
when, on returning to Bordeaux, six months later, I learned that Adèle
had been married a long while, that she was travelling with her husband,
and that no one knew where she then was! Thus this Adèle, so gentle and
so loving, who had given me so many rights over her,--she, too, had
deceived me!"
"Oh! she was doubtless forced to obey her father; and as she loved you,
she must have been terribly unhappy!"
"Yes, yes; I was told that her father had forced her into this marriage;
but the man who married her was none the less a dastard; he must have
known; Adèle must have told him,--no, she could not be his! Well! that
man who stole from me the woman whom I loved, who deprived me of the
only real happiness that it was in my power to enjoy, was your
mysterious protector, the Baron de Marcey! Consider now whether it is
sweet for me to revenge myself, and whether I was justified in tearing
you away from his love!"
"Oh! monsieur, my protector probably had no idea when he married the
unfortunate Adèle that he was wrecking her happiness and yours!"
"Yes, he must have known it! On learning of this marriage, I determined
at once to seek out the baron and kill him, or to meet death at his
hands; but his whereabouts at that time were not known, and I soon had
to fly myself, in order to escape certain creditors who were pursuing
me; I sold my estate of La Roche-Noire, and went over to England; I
tried to deaden my suffering by new dissipation; but it seemed that from
that moment misfortune followed at my heels. The gaming table carried
away a large part of my fortune; women and false friends took the rest.
I returned to France. In the days of my prosperity, I had lent money, I
had been very generous in accommodating my friends; I applied to them in
my turn, but I could obtain nothing,--the wretches!
"I learned that Adèle had died three years after her marriage with the
baron, and had left no children; it was important for me to know that
circumstance. The baron’s grief avenged me in part, but it was not
enough; and I should have tried doubtless to inflict other troubles upon
him, if the deplorable condition of my affairs had not forced me to
leave the country again in order to avoid arrest.
"I went to Italy and Spain; I was no longer the same man, I was no
longer the brilliant rake, admired by women, and dreaded by my rivals.
Compelled to seek constantly new means of gaining a livelihood, I did
not blush to ally myself with base schemers, contemptible creatures whom
a few years earlier I would have driven from my house! But what was I to
do? Work? I did not know how, and the idea of work was intolerable to
me. I speedily adopted the habits, the low manners of the dregs of
mankind who live without visible means of existence; I fell into the
lowest degradation, in short; for that is where vice leads us. Sometimes
indeed I cast a glance backward; I bestowed a memory and a tear on the
past; I blushed for myself; and more than once I have tossed away in
disgust this pipe, which idleness and degradation had placed in my
mouth, and which has since become my only pleasure, my only diversion.
"However, amid my disorderly life, amid my debauchery, I still retained
a feeling of honor; I never shared in the villanous trickeries which the
men with whom I lived committed; they laughed at what they called my
principles. Disgusted by the language of those wretches, I left them at
last, and determined to return to my country; above all, to visit once
more this Auvergne, where I had passed the happiest days of my life. So
I returned on foot, almost penniless. But many years had passed since my
departure, and so I was not afraid of being recognized. I reached this
province several months ago. I had left here some friends and
acquaintances, but some of them were dead, others were in foreign
countries. I tried to make myself useful to travellers, to obtain work;
but it seemed that something about me repelled all those to whom I
offered my services. I made the best of it; I entered the mountaineer’s
cabin, and never yet has an Auvergnat denied me bread and entertainment.
Thus it was that I saw once more my old aunt’s château, the domain of La
Roche-Noire, where I had been brought up. I found a way to enter the
château secretly; and at night, while the new owner was asleep, I loved
to wander about the old tower, to gaze once more on the walls which had
witnessed my childish sports, the porches and galleries which had echoed
the accents of my joys. There, engrossed by my recollections, I have
more than once forgotten thirty years of my life and been happy once
more."
The vagabond dropped his head upon his breast, heaved a sigh and
stopped. Isaure, who had been deeply moved by the close of his
narrative, had approached him involuntarily, and said to him in a voice
that trembled with emotion:
"Ah! you have been very unhappy!"
The vagabond raised his eyes, and looked at her, and seemed more deeply
impressed by her features and the tone of her voice.
"It is most surprising!" he cried. "I fancied that I heard her voice! It
seems to me that I see her once more!"
"Whom?" asked the girl gently.
"The woman whom I loved best, and who was stolen from me! Yes, you have
her features, the same sweet expression--or perhaps it is only a
delusion.--However, the sight of this country had almost made me forget
the Baron de Marcey; I still hated him, but I would not have left these
mountains to find him. Fate, however, has enabled me to take my revenge.
First of all, I learned that Edouard’s friend, that Alfred was the
baron’s son by his first marriage."
"Alfred, my protector’s son?" cried Isaure.
"Yes, he is his son, and that is why I urged him more than once to
abduct you. I tried to persuade him to do all sorts of wild things, even
to fight with Edouard! By ruining the son, I hoped to avenge myself on
the father. But Alfred was weak enough to renounce his love. I do not
know what I should have determined upon. Perhaps I should have sought my
vengeance in his blood! But fate has served me better. I learned from
Alfred himself that the man of the White House was his father;
thereupon, changing my plans, I determined to repay the baron a part of
the anguish he has caused me, by obtaining possession of you. I have
succeeded; you are parted from him forever.--Now, my girl, you know all,
you know the motive which has led me to take you to this undiscoverable
retreat."
"Oh! mon Dieu!" said Isaure, falling on her knees, and raising her hands
to heaven; "I am most unhappy, assuredly; but if, by remaining in this
place, I save my protector’s life, and his son’s, I shall not complain,
and I submit to my fate without a murmur."
Touched by the girl’s demeanor, the vagabond allowed her sometimes to
breathe the fresh air in front of the hovel; at such times Charlot kept
watch at some little distance; and at the slightest sound, at the
approach of any person, Isaure and her companion would return to the
inner house. But it rarely happened that a traveller passed along that
rocky path, which was at a distance from all the travelled roads. In the
fortnight that she had been in the house, Isaure had seen only a few
goats, which had shown their heads over the edge of the hole, in which
her abode was situated; but no murmur escaped the lips of her who was
now leading such a melancholy existence. She seemed to be submissive to
her fate; and if she sometimes uttered Edouard’s name, it was because
she believed herself to be alone, because she thought that she was
musing when she pronounced her lover’s name.
At such times, to comfort the poor child, the author of her misfortunes
said to her coldly:
"Your Edouard would have been no better than the rest; his love would
have passed away, because everything passes away in this life; and then
he would have deceived and abandoned you, or else he would have repented
marrying you and would have reproached you harshly."
Isaure made no reply; but she did not believe that Edouard would have
behaved thus; her heart told her that he would always have loved her
dearly; that, although he no longer saw her, he constantly thought of
her; that idea was the last consolation, the last ray of happiness that
the poor child had; why should she not try to retain it?
In the long hours which she passed in solitude, she was always thinking
of Edouard; sometimes she involuntarily called him; perhaps all hope was
not banished from her heart; but when her courage failed her, when she
felt more keenly the horror of her new existence, she took from her
breast the locket which she kept carefully hidden there; and, after
assuring herself that she was quite alone, that no one could see her,
she covered with kisses the portrait which she had been told was her
mother’s, and which she had sworn never to show to anyone. Indeed, she
had no idea that the sight of that beloved image could possess any
interest to those with whom she was condemned to pass her life.
Three weeks had passed since Isaure had been taken to Charlot’s house;
during that time, only two shepherds had appeared in the neighborhood,
and they had not entered the narrow path, but had followed the road
which passed at the end of it. So the vagabond believed that although he
was only twelve leagues at most from the White House, his captive was
more difficult to find than if he had taken her into another province.
Isaure was seated on the bench in front of the outer house; it was
mid-day, but the weather was bad and no one was likely to be tempted to
travel through the mountains. However, the old shepherd was keeping
watch on a cliff near by, and the vagabond himself, who was a few yards
away from Isaure, also watched keenly.
Suddenly, old Charlot gave the signal agreed upon to warn him of
someone’s approach. The vagabond hastily entered the hovel with the
girl, and soon the old shepherd joined them there.
"What is it?" the vagabond asked Charlot.
"I saw three men in the distance on the mountain."
"Three men! Are they coming in this direction?"
"They act as if they didn’t know where they wanted to go."
"Remain in this cabin; if these men knock at the door, open at once,
don’t keep them waiting, and let them come in and rest; if they want
refreshment, give them only bread and water; if they ask you questions,
you know what you are to answer."
Charlot nodded and returned to his house. The passage leading to the
inner house was carefully secured. The vagabond made Isaure go in; she
had started when she heard mention of three travellers; a secret
presentiment seemed to tell her that they were her protector, with his
son and Edouard, searching for her. But the vagabond’s eye had become
threatening. He had seized his sword, which had been hidden in a corner
of the excavation, and seizing Isaure’s arm, he said to her in a
menacing voice:
"If a single cry escapes you while those strangers are with Charlot, if
you try to reveal your presence, I swear that I will kill you! Do you
swear, therefore, that you will keep the most absolute silence?"
"I swear," replied Isaure, trembling from head to foot; thereupon the
vagabond left her in her room and returning to the hole, walked to the
boards which formed the rear of Charlot’s house, and placing his eye at
a wide crack, saw everything that took place in the room that looked on
the path; more than ten minutes passed, and no one arrived; the old
shepherd was beginning to think that the travellers whom he had seen had
taken another road, when footsteps were heard; they stopped in front of
the house and a voice exclaimed:
"Here is a house, at all events."
The vagabond started at that voice, for he recognized it as Edouard’s.
There was a knock at the door, Charlot opened, and the vagabond
shuddered as he saw the Baron de Marcey, Edouard and Alfred enter.
"Excuse us, my friend, if we disturb you," said the baron, while the
young men glanced curiously about them. "We are tired; the roads are so
bad in these mountains that we were obliged to leave our horses in the
village below; may we rest a moment here?"
"Yes, messieurs, sit down," replied Charlot calmly. Thereupon the three
travellers seated themselves upon some straw, and Alfred, taking a sword
from beneath his cloak, placed it beside him. The vagabond could not
avoid a thrill of horror as he recognized the weapon he had used against
Vaillant. But he was conscious of a savage joy when he saw the grieved
and melancholy expression in the eyes of the two young men and the
baron.
"Do you live alone here?" the baron asked the old shepherd.
"Yes, monsieur."
"Do you ever entertain travellers here?"
"Oh! hardly anybody ever comes here."
"And you do not remember having seen a man with a young girl?"
"No."
"Listen!" said Alfred to Charlot; "we are looking for a lovely young
woman, whom one or more wretches have stolen from her house; if her
abductors did not come here, it is possible that they passed through
this neighborhood, that you have heard someone speak of them. If you can
give us any information concerning her for whom we are looking, you will
be handsomely rewarded."
"I don’t know anything and I haven’t seen anyone," replied Charlot, with
cold indifference.
"So all our search is vain!" cried Edouard, in a despairing tone. "Dear
Isaure! We shall never be able to find you, to see you again; we do not
know even in what direction to look for you!"
The baron took Edouard’s hand and tried to allay his grief, although it
was easy to see that he was no less affected himself. Alfred rose; he
examined the place where they were, and, noticing the staircase, said to
Charlot:
"You have another room upstairs?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"I suppose it looks on the narrow path by which we came; could we rest
more comfortably there than here?"
Without awaiting the old shepherd’s reply, Alfred went to the upper
room, but he found it empty, and came sadly down again, seated himself
by his companions and said:
"We shall be quite as comfortable here."
"This part of the mountains is quite unfrequented," said the baron. "How
do you manage to live here?"
"I go to the village and buy bread enough to last ten days."
"What a dismal place to live in!" said Alfred. "How in the deuce can a
man make up his mind to pass his life here?"
"Poor Isaure!" said Edouard, "who knows that you are not living in some
hovel as wretched as this? Three weeks have passed already since you
were torn away from our love, and no indication,--nothing to lead us to
hope that we are on the track of your abductors!"
The three travellers were silent for a long time. The vagabond, hidden
behind the partition at the rear, did not take his eyes from them, and
did not leave his place; after half an hour, the baron rose, saying:
"Let us go on; it is useless to remain here any longer."
"Yes, let us go," said Alfred, "and let us try to remember the road, so
that we need not go over the same ground twice, which would cause us to
waste time. However, this place is easily recognized; I have seen few
spots so wild, so melancholy as this, where somebody has thought fit to
build this house.--Well, Edouard, are you coming?"
Edouard rose, casting a last glance at the walls of the hut, and walked
slowly off with his companions. Soon their steps died away along the
path, then the travellers disappeared altogether from the sight of
Charlot, who was looking after them from the doorway.
Thereupon the vagabond returned triumphantly to Isaure, crying:
"It was they! but they haven’t the slightest suspicion, and they have
gone away from this place, and will never return to it!"
"It was they!" murmured the girl; it seemed to her then that she had
been torn once more from those whom she loved; she had not yet
experienced such a feeling of anguish; her last hope was gone; and she
fell, sobbing, at the vagabond’s feet.
XXXII
THE NEWFOUNDLAND DOG
The Baron de Marcey and the two friends searched with the utmost care
every village and hamlet in Auvergne. The shepherd’s hut, the
ploughman’s cottage, the most wretched hovel did not escape their
notice. Wherever they went, they asked questions, made inquiries,
described Isaure, and promised money to anyone who should furnish
information concerning the girl. Everywhere their search was fruitless,
their investigations without result, and each day that passed took away
a part of the hope that sustained them.
Edouard had sunk into the lowest depths of despair. Since he had known
that Isaure really loved him, that no other than he had made her heart
beat faster, his love had become more intense. He reproached himself
bitterly for the suspicions he had conceived, for the tears he had
caused the poor child to shed. The thought of not seeing her again, of
having no opportunity, by the power of his love, to make her forget the
grief that he had caused her, crushed him and made him insensible to
every other sentiment. If the baron’s grief was less keen, one could see
by his melancholy expression and by his careworn brow how profoundly he
regretted the lovable child upon whom he had bestowed so much care.
Indeed, he often accused himself of the disaster that had befallen
Isaure.
"If I had kept her with me," he said, "if I had not banished my Adèle’s
daughter from my arms, I should not now be deprived of her caresses."
Alfred, whose temperament made it easier for him to overcome grief, did
his utmost to distract his father and Edouard in some measure; when they
lost all hope, he strove earnestly to renew it, saying:
"Why should we despair? We may find Isaure just when we least expect it;
she may escape from the place where she is undoubtedly detained against
her will; then she will hasten back to her cottage near the White House.
Who knows that she has not returned there now?"
That hope led them back to the little valley. After more than six weeks
employed in scouring the mountains, they returned to Isaure’s home; but
they found the same solitude as before. She whom they sought had not
reappeared in the neighborhood of Chadrat, and even Alfred himself
seemed to lose all hope.
Before going to the White House to repair the fatigue of their toilsome
journey, the baron and the young men went to the cottage of the peasant
with whom they had left Vaillant. They were afraid that they might not
find Isaure’s faithful defender alive; but their fears speedily
disappeared: they were a hundred yards from the Auvergnat’s house when a
noble dog came out and ran toward them with every manifestation of the
liveliest joy. It was Vaillant, his wounds entirely healed; he fawned
upon the baron, then ran to Alfred and Edouard and licked their hands as
if to thank them for assisting him and dressing his wounds when he lay
dying in the yard of the cottage. The three travellers, overjoyed to
find the gallant creature, who had nearly died for his mistress, well
and strong again, returned his caresses. But suddenly, ceasing his
demonstrations of joy, Vaillant began to walk about them, as if in
search of something; he looked at the house, then took his stand in
front of the travellers again.
"Alas! my poor old Vaillant!" said Edouard, "are you looking for someone
else? Are you asking us if we have brought back your mistress? No! she
is lost to us--perhaps forever!"
The dog looked closely at Edouard; he seemed to understand his grief; he
made no sound, but contented himself with walking silently beside him to
the house of the peasants, whom they rewarded handsomely for the care
they had taken of Vaillant. Then they returned to the White House, where
they proposed to remain until they had decided what further steps to
take.
The winter had come; it had scattered afar the dead leaves from the
trees, it had stripped the shrubs and withered the grass. The winter is
sharper and more severe in mountainous regions; nature there assumes a
more melancholy and imposing aspect. Snow had fallen in abundance in the
little valley; the roof of the White House was covered with it, and the
garden displayed the combination of dried and blackened branches and the
brilliant glare of the snow. However, despite the inclemency of the
season, despite the depressing aspect of the country, the Baron de
Marcey, his son and Edouard remained in Auvergne, living in the White
House, going forth each day to visit some point in the neighborhood. A
secret hope detained them in the place where Isaure had lived; they
could not make up their minds to leave it.
Vaillant always accompanied the gentlemen who were seeking his mistress;
it seemed that the dog was desirous to dig through the snow to the
ground, hoping to find there Isaure’s footprints. They saw him stop
more than once and scratch violently; then look uneasily to the right
and the left; but the blanket of snow that covered the ground seemed to
perplex him and to arrest his advance.
As the baron and the young men often went in different directions,
Vaillant was sometimes with one and sometimes with another. Every day
they acquired fresh proofs of his intelligence; every day he was pleased
and joyous when they left the White House to pursue their search, but he
always returned silent and sad.
Alfred argued that they would not succeed in finding Isaure by staying
always in the same place; he did not believe that her abductors had
remained in Auvergne, and he urged his father and his friend to bid that
province farewell for some time. Certain business matters required the
baron’s presence in Paris; they agreed to go thither for a short time,
and then to resume their search.
But Edouard suggested making one more circuit of the mountains before
leaving Auvergne, upon which he regretted to turn his back. Although
they looked for no success from that course, Alfred and the baron
acceded to his wish. One fine winter’s day the three started on foot,
accompanied by the faithful Vaillant. They wrapped and wound themselves
in enormous cloaks, and Alfred still carried under his the sword they
had found in Isaure’s house.
The travellers walked a large part of the day over roads which the snow
had made very hard to travel. They passed the night in a village, and,
as their search had been no more successful than usual, they prepared to
return to the White House on the morrow. They started early in the
morning and took roads which had been pointed out to them as the
shortest to Saint-Amand. But, after walking several hours, they found
themselves in the heart of the mountains, in an absolutely deserted
spot; and they had no doubt that the snow had caused them to wander from
their road.
"Where in the devil are we?" said Alfred, stopping to look about;
"instead of approaching our destination, we are going away from it."
"It seems to me that I recognize this place," said the baron, "and that
we have been here before."
"Let us follow Vaillant," said Edouard; "see, he keeps on, he seems to
propose to be our guide."